Don't Ask
by LetsSingtheDoomSong
Summary: There are some things you don't ask my Mum and Dad, not even me and I'm their daughter. Sinclair/OC (Spin-off of See All Evil [happily ever after with mild cases of insomnia, PTSD and delusions])


There are quite a few things that you don't ask Mum and Dad and I'm their daughter telling you this. Or Auntie Cammy for that matter. I'm 17 and I still know nothing of their past or how they met and I don't believe the 'love at first sight' thing since Mum interrogates everyone she meets to ensure they're not a threat. "Force of habit" she would let slip, but wouldn't elaborate.

One: You don't ask Mum about her scars. I asked once or twice and I still remember hearing her wake up in the middle of the night screaming and Dad holding her tight whispering soothing words in her ear while she cried. I always felt guilty because I was sure that her nightmares were finally done and she could get a good night's sleep, only for me to bring them up again. I was just a kid of 6, but I knew guilt at hearing mum scream for an unknown assailant to stop carving her up. Definitely don't ask who "ATLAS" is since it's carved into her forearm.

Two: Don't ask about the needle marks in the crook of Dad's arm. He was never a drug addict and they were not his choice, let's just leave it at that. Sometimes, I can still see him scratching at them as if remembering a time when he had no control. I disliked the times I saw him scratching them, because dad always looked defeated instead of the man that threatened a potential boyfriend with a revolver pointed at his family jewels. He always looked vulnerable, but when mum would wrap her arms around his neck: the look would go away and he was back to normal. There was a reason he wore long sleeves in summer. So did Mum.

Three: Don't ask Mum about Dusky Donovan. Just don't. Even if she is my grandmother, you don't ask about her. Just know that there is not a body buried out by the willow tree under her tombstone.

Four: Don't ask grandfather about what happened. Mum always seems to know when we're talking about it and always interupts. _Always_.

Five: Don't ask why Mum isn't all that book smart. She's knows basic things to get through life and that's all she needs. In all honesty, I've never met anyone smarter than my mother, just don't ask her to square 86. She will put a box around 86 and say it's squared. Ask Dad for math help and Mum for anything else _other_ than schoolwork.

Six: Don't ask why they both avoid the ocean like the plague even though we live in a country surrounded by it. I'm allowed to go swimming with my friends and they will come sit on the beach, but that is as far as they will got. Both are resonably tan because of this, especially Dad since he was born in Panama inbetween the Americas.

Seven: Don't ask Auntie Cammy where Eleanor came from. Eleanor is her's and James' daughter as far as anyone is concerned. She's nearly twice my age and a downright bloody genius who was able to fix my television even though the electrical knowledge shouldn't have been in her mind at all and she knew how to twist wires to make something hurt so it would work again.

Eight: Don't ask about the rumors around town that my Mum was missing for nearly 20 years before finally returning home safe and sound with a man on her arm and pregnant with his child. Especially when there are whispers about a city no one has heard about.

Nine: Don't ask why people from our Embassy always stop in to check on my Mum and Dad. Especially don't eavesdrop on the conversation and definitely don't ask followup questions when they leave.

Ten and this is the most important of all: Don't ask about Rapture. No, it's not something from biblical terminology. Rapture to my Mum and Dad means something else entirely and not at all something pleasant. It brings back the nightmares not just for Mum, but for Dad as well. Dad starts to drink. Mum contemplates the meaning of life like people who are about to attempt suicide do. Auntie Cammy disappears for a few weeks (I'm told she just went back to America, but I know from hearing phone calls that she's checked herself into a psych clinic. Eleanor stays with us for that time).

I love them dearly because despite these few things, they are the best parents anyone could ask for. Dad loves to take walks with me around the town, getting lunch and later ice cream just because. When I was a kid, I thought there were monsters in the closet and Dad told me that the monsters in my closet are the nice monsters because he and Mum made sure to get rid of all the bad ones. My imaginary friend later was the monster in my closet. When I brought home my first boyfriend, my Dad scared the piss out of him by threatening to shoot his family jewels off if he hurt me or had sex with me before I was 18. The boyfriend didn't last long after that anyways. He'd always make an effort to help me with my homework even when I know he's got work to finish even if he has to call me from his office. On Guy Fawkes Day, he'd buy the biggest fireworks he could find and would set them off over the pond, enjoying the splash of colors while we ate the food from the picnic Mum prepared. Fourth of July was the same thing even if the neighbors complained, but Dad and always will be an American at heart even though he now lives in the UK.

Mum liked to go running through the apple orchard, egging me on to race and ending with me winning though I'm sure she let me win. We'd sit by the pond and skip rocks seeing who could skip it the most (Mum won always). At night, we'd lay on our backs on the back porch, watching the stars and I would name the constellations because Mum didn't know them. She'd always make my lunch for school and never forgot to give me a kiss on the forehead. She loved to sing which was a surprise apparently to Dad when she first started. The songs I was unfamiliar with, but they were calming, at the same time sad. She taught me a few of the songs and together we'd sing as we made dinner or picked apples. She honestly could have been a songstress, but she brushed off the notion with humor, a few times letting slip, "They're not my songs to claim, Grace." But when she'd say 'Grace', I had this feeling she wasn't talking about me.

It was easy to see how much they loved each other, like they used the pain they experience to strengthen their bond. They never did explain how they fell for each other even with their age gap, but I learned not to ask and to just know that Fate is a strange mistress. Dad would always bring home flowers, whether store bought or some he picked on the way home. One year for the anniversary, he brought home a dozen roses, but little did we know, one of them was fake and made to look exactly like the other 11 roses. He gave them to Mum and said, "I will love you until the last rose dies." The fake rose still sits on the mantle, forever unaging.

My name is Grace Sinclair and I have the best parents anyone could ask for.


End file.
